


Lost

by FailSafePrime



Series: Sherlock Minifics [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Mini-Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailSafePrime/pseuds/FailSafePrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They could still have it, the quiet retirement, the bulldog, the bees. All John had to do was wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

It wasn't supposed to end this way. It mustn't end this way.

They were supposed to grow old together in some quiet countryside, with John working as a country physician and Sherlock keeping bees. They would live in a quaint little cottage with a bull dog called Gladstone and entertain the occasional visit from old colleagues and friends and their respective siblings, if Harry lived that long or if Mycroft could ever find the time. Sherlock might occasionally take a case, and John would follow, as he always had.

It could still happen, if John would only wake up.

"Wake up, John," he whispered into sunbleached hair.

John was still and limp in his arms, head tucked under Sherlock's chin, mouth slack and eyes closed. The tension in that wiry, compact body had bled out long ago. His blood was trickling out of the wound on his back, saturating his scarf and trickling over and through Sherlock's fingers like the finest, most precious claret.

"Wake up. John," Sherlock murmured again, "John."

There was a scrape and a scuffle. Sherlock looked up, glaring at the suspect who was trying to escape. The man stilled, eyes wide and frightened above his scarf, which had been stuffed into his mouth as an impromptu gag, his hands and feet zip tied together.

"Don't move," Sherlock growled, "Don't even think about trying to get away, or I'll hunt you down like the trash that you are."

The sound of distant sirens cut the air, drawing gradually closer.

Sherlock lowered his head and eyes again, and murmured into John's ears, "Hear that, John? It's Lestrade. He'll be here soon with an ambulance. You'll be just fine. Just… Just don't fall asleep, John. Open your eyes. John…"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called from what seemed like an eternity away. "John?"

"Here, Lestrade," Sherlock called, and murmured into John's hair, "It's Lestrade, John. You'll be alright now. Lestrade is here… John. Wake up, John. John…"

"Sherl-Oh, Christ," there were heavy, rushed footsteps and Lestrade barked into a radio for an ambulance.

"Come on, Sherlock," Lestrade said gently, "Let John go, now. The ambulance will be here soon."

"Piss off!" Sherlock snarled, glaring at the hands trying to take John away. "John will bleed out if I let go."

"He's not breathing, Sherlock," Lestrade said gently, "There's nothing more we can do. Donovan's taken the suspect into custody, there's only you and John left. Let John go, Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock tightened his arms around the bodyJohn, and glared, "No."

They could still have it, a nice, quiet retirement in the countryside. With a bulldog and bees. John could putter around in the garden all he liked when he wasn't working as a country physician or writing up soppy, romanticized versions of their cases. They could have it all.

All John had to do was wake up.

"Wake up, John," Sherlock whispered into sunbleached hair. "Wake up. John, please. Wake up."

John didn't wake up.

"John," his voice was cracking, breaking. Why?

"Please, John. Don't make me beg."

Where was Mycroft? Mycroft would fix it. Mycroft always did, whether he liked it or not.

"John. Wake up."

Right. It just figured that the one time Sherlock wanted his brother to interfere, he wouldn't.

"John. Please. I'm lost without my blogger. John."

~*~

End


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